The king of fire descends once more.

He was so vibrant,
he remembers.

His grass gleamed like crystals.
His trees stood tall, his flowers swayed in the wind.
The dew on his leaves always tasted sweet.

The ash crumbles in the king’s hand.

He was so…. alive.

.

He has always known,
it is a burden of the light to live without knowing the warmth of a touch.

Perhaps,
it is also another burden–

to evermore fall in love, with that he cannot touch.

–Β “The King of Fire” — for Shy.

LL.

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